Express train missed.
The good-bye kiss took too long
standing on the platform of
Remorse.

Warning whistles scantly noticed
during last embrace.
Bags packed aside to
ride the last ride to
a place to hide,
the rigid double path,
Horizon’s End.

Ticket cost was bliss.
Hell, you got what you wanted,
Hell.
You sauntered into this
knowing full well
the engine has no steering wheel.

Hide behind that tumbleweed,
it only dries up,
blows away,
leaves you squatting
on the desert,
seeming silly,
with your ticket
pokin’ outa yur’ pocket.

Walk the ties
with their every other
step too long to stretch,
their every step-ties too
short to make time
without looking like
Charlie Chaplin
windup toy boy.

All the Victory sucked out of Leaving.
The final dagger scene played with a banana,
instead of that jewel encrusted shiv
you loved to strut and practice with.

Roar and dust
dust and roar
is all that’s left of
train shadow,
pickpocket would help
save face facing faces
of those who came to
bid their fondest
lukewarms.

Own up.
Tell them to go
on their way.
No need to ......,
even the Stationmaster
went home to empty
shotgun quarters
owned by someone else.

Night Express from Remorse
not an easy ride,
not an easy hide.

05/20/2007

Posted on 05/20/2007
Copyright © 2025 Timothy Somers